Ex-Isle by Peter Clines (electronic reader TXT) 📕

Madelyn and Barry looked between the two men.

“Ummmm…,” said St. George. “Do I know you?”

The man turned to the crowd. “Your little flight was very impressive,” he said before looking back at the heroes, “but you missed one important detail. The Mighty Dragon couldn’t fly. He could only jump and glide through the air.”

The low rumble wasn’t low anymore. The crowd looked between the two men. Their suspicious eyes lingered on St. George.

“I’ve had a lot of time to practice,” said St. George. “I got better. I can fly. I’m stronger. I’m—”

“You’re a fake!” Maleko spun and jabbed a finger at him. “An imposter. The Dragon is dead. He died a hero, trying to save people ’til the very end.”

“I’m not an imposter.”

“Seriously,” said Madelyn. “How many flying guys do you know?”

“The guy in Iraq,” said Eliza. “Marduk. He could fly and breathe fire, just like you’re doing.”

“No offense to anyone here,” said St. George, glancing at the Middle Eastern man, “but do I look like I’m from Iraq?”

“Not every terrorist is from Iraq,” said Steve.

St. George stared at the big man. “What?”

Barry shook his head in amazement. “Now we’re terrorists?”

Steve shrugged. “You said it, not me.”

“Liar!” the call came out of the crowd. The faces were angry now.

“Really not liking this,” murmured the Corpse Girl.

“Same here,” said Barry. He shifted to the edge of his chair, ready to launch himself off.

“We’re not lying,” St. George said to the crowd. “I am the Mighty Dragon. This is Zzzap. We came here from Los Angeles.”

“You are not,” said Maleko. His voice echoed in the ship’s courtyard. “And you did not. You made a mistake by saying you were from Los Angeles when we all know Los Angeles is gone. You made a mistake by flying in front of all these people when we know the Mighty Dragon can only glide. And you made a mistake by claiming that name, because if you were really him…you’d know who I was.”

St. George stared at the man. “I’ve never seen you before in my life.”

“See?” roared Maleko. “He admits it.” He turned to glare at St. George. His nostrils flared with three quick breaths.

“Who the hell are you?”

Maleko’s jaw trembled. He took in three more short breaths. The muscles in his arms and neck tensed. He inhaled three more times, his face darkened as if he was holding his breath for too long, and he closed his eyes.

St. George realized the man hadn’t let any air out yet.

Veins bulged on Maleko’s arms and chest and neck and face, like a bodybuilder at the peak of his workout.

Madelyn leaned forward. “Is he…is he having a seizure?”

St. George glanced at the crowd. They’d calmed down. Most of them looked relieved. A few, like Steve and Alice, looked excited. Eliza tilted her head down and crossed her arms.

Dark bruises burst across Maleko’s skin. The flesh under his eyebrows puffed up. Hives broke out across his bare shoulders, flowed together, and bubbled up even more.

He opened his eyes. They were all black. Black and oily. He bared jagged teeth in a snarl.

St. George and Madelyn both took a step back. “Oh, frak,” said Barry, hopping in his chair. “He’s a Zoanoid!”

Maleko grew.

He threw his head back, and by the time his ponytail settled he was a foot taller. His chest swelled inside the baggy clothes until the silk shirt was tight at the seams. The cord he’d been using as a belt snapped, and then the ragged slacks were tight, too. His arms and neck thickened under the bulging veins.

His hands spread wide. The palms widened, and the fingers shrank to little stubs with one knuckle. Then the hands flexed again, and St. George realized the palm hadn’t grown at all.

The fingers were webbed.

He glanced down and saw Maleko’s toes had stretched out. Just enough that the webbing there was apparent. The toenails curled into short claws.

The growths on his shoulders rippled and continued to swell. The bruised skin paled, but to a glossy blue-gray, not the golden brown it had been. His shoulders lost even more color and hardened until they were like bone.

Or shell.

“Whoa,” said Madelyn. “Nautilus.”

Maleko twisted his head in a slow circle until his neck popped. His black eyes gazed down at St. George, shaded by a Neanderthal brow. “Your pet ex knows who I am,” he said. His voice rumbled in his chest.

“Hey,” she snapped, “don’t be a jerk.”

“We thought you didn’t make it,” said Barry. “I flew out to Hawaii twice, but we never saw any sign of you.”

“Still keeping up this game?” Maleko—Nautilus—lifted one hand and made a fist. With the webbed fingers, it looked like a boxing glove. “I’ll give you one chance to come clean. Tell me who you are and you won’t be harmed.”

“I’ve told you who I am,” said St. George. “I’ve told you. I told your guards. I’ve told everyone here.” He waved his hand at the crowd. “My name is George Bailey. Most people have been calling me St. George. And for about two years before the ex-virus appeared, I was known as the Mighty Dragon.”

Nautilus hit him.

It was a powerful backhand, one that would’ve shattered the jaw of a normal person, if not killed them outright. St. George had been expecting it, though, and he wasn’t a normal person. It knocked him back toward the stained glass doors, but he managed to focus on gravity and made it more of an upright flight than a tumble.

A blinding flash, a hiss of air, and the crowd’s screams told him Barry had changed into Zzzap. The light shifted as his friend darted up, away from the people and into a better position. Okay, he called out, let’s all stay calm.

St. George leaped back, fists up, and came to a jerking halt.

Nautilus held Madelyn up in the air with both hands. One was wrapped around the back of her neck. The fingertips of the other hand sunk into her thigh. He kept her between